She wouldn’t volunteer for his squadron, but she would follow orders, she said. “But it makes no difference whatever we do.”

“Of course it does—”

“No. Ask This Burden Must Pass.”

“Who?”

She shrugged, and sat apathetically until he released her.

After similar experiences with other cadets, as Burden’s name came up repeatedly, Pirius realized that to penetrate the strange, deviant culture of this Base, he was going to have to meet this frontline prophet.

And, as he had always known, he was going to have to confront his own future self.

This Burden Must Pass — or Quero, as Pila insisted on calling him — didn’t fit into this colony of child soldiers. He was too tall, too old, too experienced. He sat in Pirius’s commandeered office with a relaxed calm, and yet somehow dominated the room. He was centered, that was the word; he made Pirius feel young, unformed.

Pirius said, “You’re a good flyer. Your training record is clear about that.”

“Thank you.”

“And you’re good at keeping yourself alive. I’d want you in my squadron for those qualities alone.”

Burden nodded. But as he took in the notion that Pirius was offering him a flight post he avoided Pirius’s gaze, oddly. “Whatever you say.”

Pirius delivered his standard line. “I’m reluctant to draft you. I want volunteers, if I can get them; the mission is going to be tough enough as it is without reluctant conscripts.”

“You’re wise.”

“But the point is,” Pirius said, “there are many others here on Quin who won’t consider coming with me unless you are there. I don’t understand the hold you have over them.”

“I suppose I give them hope,” Burden said.

“It’s this philosophy of yours, isn’t it? You’re a Wignerian. You believe that all of this,” he waved a hand, “will be wiped out when—”

“When we reach timelike infinity,” said Pila coldly. She regarded Burden with undisguised loathing. For all her cynicism, she was a strict Druzite, and Burden’s non-conformity shocked her. “You’re only here because you’re an opinion former.” She waved manicured fingers. “Out there, in that pit you call a barracks.”

“I don’t want to form anyone’s opinion. I’m only myself.”

“Garbage,” Pila said. “I’m astonished the commanders here tolerate your deviance. I wouldn’t, for a second.”

“You’ll get used to it. And after all, it doesn’t matter. This burden must pass,” Burden said, and he grinned.

“In any case,” she said, “it doesn’t make any difference if you join us or not. Because whatever we do, all of this will be erased anyhow, won’t it? And so what’s the point of getting out of your bunk?”

“There is always a point,” Burden said mildly. “All the worldlines contribute to the whole, in some sense beyond our understanding. And of course there are always the people around you. You must care for them, as they care for you. I do believe in timelike infinity, in the final convergence—”

Pirius nodded. “But we have a duty to behave as if it’s not so. As if this is the only chance we get.”

Burden eyed him. “You understand. You and I — I mean, Pirius Blue — have had long discussions about these points. You’re deeper than you look, Pirius Red.”

“Thanks,” Pirius said. “Look, I’m not interested in your endorsement for myself. But it seems I need it to get my job done. Will you fly with me?”

Now the moment of commitment had come, and Pirius, watching Burden closely, thought he saw a flash of fear in his eyes. There were depths to this strange man, he realized. “You can refuse if you want,” he said, groping for understanding.

But the instant had passed, and Burden’s smiling control returned. “I think you know I will accept.”

Pila snorted her disgust. But she turned another box in her checklist from red to green.

As Burden made to leave, he turned back. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“There have been rumors—”

“Rumors?”

“That you brought a Silver Ghost with you from Earth. A live Ghost.”

Pirius glanced at Pila, who rolled her eyes; they had had little cooperation from the Quin commanders over security. He said, “I can’t comment on that. And I don’t understand your interest anyhow.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Burden.

Pirius sensed it actually mattered a great deal. There was much he didn’t understand about Burden, he thought — perhaps a lot Burden didn’t even understand about himself.

But there was no time to think about it now, because he had to face a still more difficult interview.

Pirius Blue was arrogant, cocky.

His face, of course, was Pirius Red’s own. But Red was shocked by how old he had become, even compared to his memory from the trial seven months ago, as if far more than a couple of years now separated them. And the infantry-standard silvered discs that replaced his pupils were eerie, glinting.

“Let me get this straight,” Blue said. “You want me to fly in your kiddie squadron. You want me to report to you.”

Red worked hard to keep his temper under control. “It isn’t unprecedented.” That was true; he had had Pila look out the records. “There have been many instances of temporal twins serving together.”

“Yes, but not with one under the command of another.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I’m you,” said Blue. “Or rather, I’m what you wish you were. I’m the older, wiser, more experienced, better-looking you.” He actually leered at Pila, trying to put her off. Red felt obscurely proud of the contemptuous loathing she projected back.

In his brief few days as a squadron leader, Red had begun to learn the elements of command. Now he summoned all that up. “Get this straight,” he snapped, and Blue looked surprised at his tone. “I don’t like this situation any more than you do. But I’m stuck with it. I’ve got a mission, I’ve got my duty, and I intend to perform it.”

“Don’t lecture me, you… you—”

“What?” Pirius stood up and leaned over the table. “What? What do you think I am? I’m not your clone. I’m not a cadre sibling, or a brother, or even a twin. I’m not some failed copy of you. I’m you. Maybe you resent my existence. But believe me, I resent yours far more. I’m here,” he said. “So are you. Get over it.”

Blue shook his head. “If you’re drafting me—”

“I’ve drafted nobody. I’m looking for volunteers.” That seemed to surprise Blue. “I know you can do the job,” Red said. “Because I know myself that well.”

“So you want me to volunteer.”

“No. I want more than that. I want you to support me.”

“Why? To make you feel good?”

“No. Because you’ll bring with you good people, like Enduring Hope and Cohl.”

“I’ll think about it—”

“Crap. Tell me now, or walk away.”

Blue, staring boldly at him, shook his head. “You speak to me that way. But you’ve no idea what I’ve seen here. None at all.”

“Give me an answer.”

The silence stretched. Pila sat silently, evidently fascinated, as the two halves of Pirius, locked together by fate and mutual loathing, faced each other down.

Eventually Pirius Blue agreed. Pirius Red always knew he would, though the two of them would fight all the way to Chandra. After all, that was what he would have done himself.

As Blue turned to go, Red stopped him. “We’re going to have to learn to get along. We’ll always have seventeen years of our lives in common.”

“So what?” Blue snapped. “That’s the past.”

“Aren’t you going to ask about her?”

Blue’s back stiffened. “Who?”

“Torec. Come on, Blue. We need to talk it over.”

Blue shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about. She’s your Torec. Mine is — lost, in a timeline that’s never going to exist. You get used to it.” And he walked out.